


First Contact

by Saesama



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Prompt Generator, drones are jerks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saesama/pseuds/Saesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sawtooth did a lot more than challenge people to rap-offs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Contact

You set down in the center of the colony, your cloak settling dramatically around your shoulder hinges, and looked around. Carapacians peeked out at you, trembling with fear. Not a drone but not one of them, they didn't know how to take you. Fair.

A tiny white carapacian edged around the nearest wall. You nodded to him in what could be construed as a polite manner. "Any drones up in here?" you asked. He shook his head, faceted black eyes wide as he stared at you. "They patrol through?" you prodded. He nodded, then swallowed nervously. "How often?" A quicker shake and he disappeared around the corner.

Were you capable, you would sigh.

Instead, you tapped into the last of the cell phone satellites. Di-Stri was pretty certain that one of the few remaining internet servers was near here, and this little town was the most likely spot in the area. The signal wavered, clicked, and you got through, pinging on the antenna that was Squarewave and on through to Di-Stri's computer. 'Carapacian colony', you sent.

'Wifi search first' came back almost immediately. That meant Di-Stri was playing with his neural gear again, jacked directly into the shredded internet and surfing as fast as his juvenile brain could handle. 'Don't start knocking on doors until you have to.'

You sent a tone that would be interpreted as a nod and started to walk through the streets.

o o o

You expected to be watched. You were, after all, a stranger in a world where people had long ago stopped traveling. But you'd never come to a place where the carapacians were _this_ avoidant of you. Usually, after a day or so of being around and not murdering someone, one or two of them would work up the courage to approach. Day three was always when you started beat-boxing out loud to yourself as you walked, and if they hadn't approached you by then, they definitely did after; carapacians enjoyed music, especially heavy rhythmic beats, and your flow was just what they liked.

But no one in this town had done more than stare at you from behind corners, and you'd been here for over a week. Your beats fell on deaf ears, and you had just enough emotional programming to be annoyed by that. Their behavior suggested they were hiding something, and were waiting for you to either find it or fuck off.

Maybe it was the server. Wifi scanning led you to the center of one of the white blocks, and your observers were thickest here. You wandered down the narrow streets, peering into windows and climbing up to the rooftops, but every building showed signs of habitation and Di-Stri forbid you from searching like a drone would; by breaking everything. You didn't have the algorithms to get frustrated by your lack of progress, though, and you kept looking around.

The signal - and the carapacian presence - was strongest around a somewhat unique building and you kept coming back to it. It was the same white stone as every other building in the neighborhood, but the design was off and there was an observatory rising from the center. Eventually, you knocked at the door. No answer, but there were over a dozen carapacians giving you death-glares from nearby cover.

You looked at the nearest one. "Who lives here?" you asked, jerking your thumb at the door. She just glowered at you and didn't answer. "Drones take y'all tongues?" you asked mildly.

"What do you want from us?" she spat, hissing furious and scared.

"Internet server," you answered immediately. 

"We don't have any. So leave."

"There's one here." You pointed at the building again. "I'm not gonna take it from you."

"There isn't one and you should leave!" the carapacian said, all in one breath and she was _terrified_. The fuck? 'Di-Stri, I'm meeting hostility and fear. There any drones running around with my face?'

A moment's pause. 'Christ, I hope not.'

'Huh. I think I found the server building, but the carapacians don't want to let me inside.'

'Reconnaissance and tell me what you see.'

Could do. You lifted off and flew away from the neighborhood.

o o o

Night fell and you snuck back to the odd building. You were the single most skilled robot Di-Stri had built yet, and not just because no one stood a chance against your lyrics. Stealth came easily, and you crept through the neighborhood in a silence only interrupted by the faint whine of your servos.

The weird building had one window lit and a cordon of sentries. You swung up onto a building across the street and eased up to the edge nearest the lit window, and perfect, you could look down into the room. Two carapacians were talking to someone you couldn't see, and their body language was pleading. You tilted your head curiously and edged closer.

Brilliant spotlights lit up the night from above. Drones, five of them, buzzing angrily as they descended from their skiff with sickle hands and nasty grins. The carapacians on the ground panicked and you swore colorfully. You risked retaliation of the worst kind if you destroyed these things, but this wasn't a patrol. This was an inquisition team, out to hunt 'lawbreakers' and any one that crossed their path.

Fuck. Them.

Your cloak flared behind you as you arced up at the skiff. The drones saw you and made angry clicky noises you didn't deign to translate before you punched through the skiff's engine compartment. The device exploded, and you spun towards the drones with the edges of your cloak on fire.

Maybe you could recover the sight from one of their memory banks after you tore them up. Di-Stri would appreciate the dramatics.

Two drones buzzed towards you. They were agile. You were better. You zipped between them, launching a series of small flares into the cracks of their armor and their buzzing turned first alarmed, then pained as the flares blew apart their joints. They fell, not out of the fight completely but down for now and if the carapacians didn't smash what was left, you'd deal with them later.

One of the remaining drones was faster than you expected. The blow caught you across the face and slammed you into a tower and _fuck_ these sad excuses for robots. You launched yourself after the drone that hit you, long, narrow blades telescoping out of your forearms as you went. The drone raised its sickles to catch your blades, and you diverted at the last moment, flipping around to shove a foot full of rocket into the face of one of the other drones. It became your launchpad back at the fast drone and your blades removed its arms and head with surgical neatness. 

The last drone was waiting for you when you came out of your leap and it caught you up in a massive bearhug with your arms pinned to your sides. These bastards were getting fast. And strong; you couldn't break free. But you were far from helpless. The plating on your legs rose and your launchers rotated out. Your chassis was starting to creak distressingly, but you still took a moment to aim the launchers. No point in being sloppy, even if pressure warnings were starting to ping in the corner of your vision. A little up, a little over, and when you fired, the string of explosions climbed its body, culminating in its head going up in a bloom of silicon and shrapnel.

You shrugged off the broken drone and looked around. The burning wreckage of the skiff had crashed into a building, and carapacians scurried to douse the flames, but it looked like they had it under control. You turned, scanning, and saw the tiny figure aiming a huge fucking gun at you only milliseconds before it fired.

The blast tore off your leg at the knee and sent you whirling towards the ground. You crashed hard, tearing up cement blocks as you went, and you tumbled to a stop against the foundation of a building. "Well, shit," you muttered.

"All right, robot," squeaked whoever was standing above you. "Don't you move!"

You rolled over. She was tiny and blond and _human_ and aiming the biggest fucking rifle you'd ever seen at your head. You stared at her. The only human you'd ever seen was Di-Stri, and this girl, so weirdly like him and so not, was pinging on your recognition software in uncomfortable ways.

'You're registering battle damage. What's up?'

'Human girl.'

'WHAT?'

"I told you not to move!" she yelled, scared and angry and her hands didn't waver a bit. She was about Di-Stri's age, shorter than he was and the gun she held was longer than she was tall. Carapacians began to gather around, each one armed with some kind of blunt instrument and you didn't pay them any more attention than marking their locations.

The girl was the important one. And judging by the way the carapacians looked to her, she was the one calling the shots in this.

"Sup?" you asked.

She blinked. Her eyes were brilliant pink; Di-Stri was going to have a field day trying to map that particular genetic oddity. Her gun still didn't waver, but she looked more confused than scared. "Did you say..." she started, her brows furrowing.

"Sup," you repeated. "As in, 'what's up?' As in, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this, li'l miss?"

She was staring, her mouth hanging open a little. You waited. The carapacians waited.

'Sawtooth. Sawtooth, what the fuck is going on? What do you mean, 'human girl'? Saw, answer me!'

Di-Stri was going to have to wait, too. 

"You're..." she started, then swallowed. "You're not a drone." You made a derisive, buzzing snort and she finally lowered the barrel of her gun a little. "What _are_ you?"

"Sawtooth." You paused, perusing the increasingly frantic missives from Di-Stri. "My creator says hi." Actually, most of it was comprised of 'fuck' and its various cousins, but it was the thought that mattered.

She swallowed again. "Who's your creator?" she demanded.

"Another human." Direct hit; she flinched as if you'd struck her, and her gun lowered further. "Who are you, baby girl?"

She bit her lip nervously. "Roxy," she answered finally.

'Calm your tits, Di-Stri. Roxy says hi.'

Well, it was the thought that mattered.


End file.
